


A Favor

by MldrItsMe



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Cancer Arc, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-24
Updated: 2008-02-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4654704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MldrItsMe/pseuds/MldrItsMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes, Redux II. Scully is dying. She’s made the decision to re-implant the chip under the skin of her neck. She and Mulder both heard her doctor say he has no conventional treatment options left. She’s dying, and she needs a miracle. Bill Scully has told Mulder exactly what he thinks of him. Mulder couldn’t - or wouldn’t - put up much of an argument. So now, everyone waits, unsure of what’s coming next, unable to do much more than wait and hope. And talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Favor

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in February 2008, when the run-up to IWTB had reignited my giddy MSR x-phile heart. I've kept this fic in a notebook (with a few others) all these years. Once again in 2015 I find my x-phile heart all a-flutter for the revival, and after discovering the Tumblr and AO3 communities I got up the guts to put my work out there. Let me know if you like it! Redux II absolutely breaks my heart every time I watch it, and it's one of my top-5 episodes, easily. The love and anguish between Mulder and Scully is just so raw and so real, and it just grabs me. I've always wanted more scenes between them; how would they be with each other as the time passes, dealing with the unavoidable possibility that it's running out?

Mulder hung up the phone, pissed at the smoking man’s cryptic statement, pissed that despite himself, despite his better judgment, he was intrigued. Much as he suspected that this mysterious meeting tonight would be just another jerk-off waste of his time, he couldn’t dismiss the nagging voice in his head that told him the smoking man had answers. And among those answers may be hope for Scully. As long as Scully could hang on, Mulder had vowed to himself, he would do whatever he could to help her. And so he resigned himself to the fact that, once again, the smoking man had jerked the leash, and Mulder would follow.

He sat back in the hard, uncomfortable plastic chair and breathed deeply, trying to reset himself. That meeting would happen later. For now, he was there to be with Scully. To stick by her, to support her in any way she needed. To keep vigil over her breaths, her words, her presence. To absorb everything about her as best he could. To anguish in her pain, to celebrate her life. He felt selfish and perverse, knowing that he wanted to memorize everything he could about her before she was gone - to internalize her very essence if possible. He felt selfish, and he was disgusted about it, but he wouldn’t stop himself. He needed this. He hoped that she understood.

Mulder stood, pushed gently on the door to Scully’s room, and poked his head in. She was reclining in the bed, head turned to the window. He could see that her eyes were open.

“Scully?” he loud-whispered.

She turned her head to face him and smiled. “Hey,” she said. “Come in.”

He smiled back, despite the stab of grief that struck him. Her smile, though genuine, was weak, and her voice was cracked and small.

Mulder pulled a chair up to her bedside and sat down to face Scully. She took his hand, the strength of her grip surprising him.

“How’re you doing?” he asked her.

She smiled tightly in a way that spoke volumes of fear and grief, and her gaze fell to the muted blue blanket covering her small body.

Mulder covered their clasped hands with his other hand and bowed his head to place a kiss on her knuckles. He laid his cheek against the back of her hand and closed his eyes.

A moment or two passed, then he heard her soft voice, hoarse and gravelly, say, “Mulder, I’m not doing well.”

Her words were terrifying. He raised his head to see her face painted in anguish. Her eyes were rimmed with red, making their blue glow and gleam, and her lips trembled despite her visible effort to maintain control. He had no idea how to respond, so he waited for her to continue.

Softly, and sinking back into her pillows, Scully chose her words carefully. “I’m scared. I’m angry, and I’m frustrated.” Her brows knit together, and her eyes glowed again. “It’s not fair, you know? I … I can’t believe I’m lying here, facing this. I’ve been - I don’t know - looking back over my life, you know? Thinking about the way I used to think about the future, the choices I made, the ideas that guided me. The things I wanted to do or thought I was supposed to do…”

She trailed off, closed her eyes. Mulder imagined what those things had been, what Scully had wanted her life to be, years ago, before she’d joined the FBI, before she’d met him. Normal things, positive things. Wonderful things that a woman as intelligent and driven as Scully could have had. Should have had.

Her weak voice continued. “And I just can’t believe this is … how it’ll end.” She met his eyes and let a tear roll down her cheek. Scully gave him a look that acknowledged the meaning of her statement. She was forcing herself to face the likelihood that she was dying.

Mulder choked up. He was at a loss for words. “Scully,” he said. His voice cracked, and he couldn't continue. He clasped their joined hands again and brought her knuckles to his lips. He breathed in deeply and shook his head. “Scully, you have to stay positive. The chip - we need to give it time. I…”

“Mulder,” Scully chided. She looked at him kindly. “You need to face this. You need to be realistic. We have no idea--”

“Scully, as long as there’s hope--”

“Mulder, stop.” Her voice was still weak, but she managed a commanding tone anyway. She paused. Took a breath. Mulder saw the toll this conversation was taking on her. He let shame wash over him.  “Look, I’m not saying there’s no hope. And I’m grateful for your belief. I’m grateful that you won’t give up.” He felt her squeeze his hand lightly, and he saw her knit her brows again, marshaling her energy. “I need you to keep that alive for me.” She paused again. “But I also have to be realistic. We all have to.”

Mulder shook his head slightly, still fighting the truth of her words. He whispered, “I can’t … I can’t …” He released her grip and dropped his head into his hands.

He felt Scully’s fingers thread through his hair for a moment, then he heard her hand softly drop to the bed. She sighed, and the sigh ended on a tiny whimper.

Mulder’s head shot up, feeling his heartbeat race. “What’s wrong?”

Scully’s eyes were closed, and her face had paled. He put his hand to her forehead, to her cheek, the grasped her shoulders gently. “Scully?” he called, hearing the panic in his own voice.

She murmured, blinked at him a few times. Closed her eyes again. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I just get exhausted.” She paused a moment. “Pretty quickly,” she finished, almost inaudible.

Mulder stroked her cheek lightly as she drifted off. His heart soared when she murmured again, happily this time, with a tiny smile on her face. He felt helpful, at least, if he could provide her this little reassurance, this promise that he was there, by her side, and he wasn’t leaving.

Scully slept an hour or so, and Mulder didn’t budge from his vigil by her side. She woke with a groan, which horrified him all over again.

“Scully, what’s wrong? Are you in pain? Do you need me to find the doctor?” He braced himself to stand, to run for help, at the first word from her.

Instead, she slowly and gingerly shifted positions, turning on her side and curling up into a loose fetal position. She grimaced as she moved. “No, ‘s okay,” she whispered breathlessly through clenched teeth. “I’m okay.” She found the position she wanted, and Mulder watched her relax cautiously.

“You don’t look okay. God, Scully …” he trailed off. “You sure you don’t want the doctor?”

She met his eyes with a look he recognized. Scully’s frank, tell-it-like-it-is look. “Mulder, I’m always in pain now. That’s just … what happens.”

He sat back. “God. Always?”

She nodded. “Well -- yeah, always. The pain and the exhaustion kind of take turns. When the pain’s in charge, I wake up. When the exhaustion wins, I fall asleep. Like before.”

He shook his head. “Fuck,” he said. He felt like he was about to panic. He felt helpless - he was helpless - and all he wanted in the world was to rescue Scully from that torturous cycle. “Fuck, Scully,” he said, standing up. He started to pace. “I can’t take this - it’s -- Fuck!!”

“Mulder,” she said, and her voice was so weak it only made his panic worse. But he stopped in his tracks, waiting, wanting her to tell him what to do, how to fix this, how to help. “Mulder, sit down,” she said. “You’re exhausting me, just watching you.”

He sat back down, leaned forward, clasped her hand again. “Sorry,” he whispered.

She smiled a little in forgiveness.

He took a slow breath and felt it catch in his throat. “Scully, I’m so sorry. I’m -- God, I’d give anything to get you out of this. To make you better, to--”

“I know,” she whispered. She met his eyes steadily, and her sigh finished the thought: but you can’t.

Mulder felt an urge to change the subject, and the urge presented a number of conflicting options. He could pour his heart out - and risk being maudlin. He could tell her about what Bill had said - and tell her he agreed with the elder Scully’s appraisal on almost every point. Every point except the suggestion that there was nothing to do but endure this loss stoically. He could think of something irreverent, sarcastic, unrelated - and risk wasting precious moments with Scully making meaningless small talk.

He decided to stay quiet and let her steer the conversation - if she was even up to conversation.

She was quiet and still for a few more moments, and Mulder wondered if she would fall asleep again. Now that he knew how painful consciousness could be for her, he almost hoped she would.

Instead, she cleared her throat and said, “Can I ask a favor, Mulder?”

He sat up. “Anything. Name it.”

She smiled sort of shyly. “It’s … weird.”

He shook his head. “Nothing’s weird, Scully. Tell me what you need, what you want.”

She blushed, and he thrilled at the return of some color to her pale, yellowing skin. “Can you -- will you …” She trailed off once more.

“Scully, what?”

Her voice was small and sheepish. “I’d like to be held.” Her voice hitched on the last word, and she started to cry.

Mulder’s heart broke. “Of course,” he said. He looked around the room. Her bed was pretty small and didn’t look too promising. There was an armchair over by the window, though. He smiled at Scully. “Let’s go sit in that chair,” he said, nodding in that direction. “Are you up for moving?”

She glanced across the room, knitted her brows, and nodded, moving gingerly to sit up.

Mulder leaned over to help. “Here,” he said. He reached behind her shoulders to help her sit. “Let me know if I hurt you, okay?” he said. She nodded her head and leaned in close, putting her chin over his shoulder. He felt the little puffs of her breath as he reached under her blankets and hooked his right arm under Scully’s knees. The blankets fell away as he stood and lifted her off the bed.

“You okay?” he asked before moving her any further.

“I’m okay,” she whispered before laying her cheek down on Mulder’s shoulder, the bridge of her nose pressing into his neck. “Careful of the I.V.” she reminded him.

Mulder turned to grasp the I.V. pole with his right hand, then twisted back and made his way past the foot of Scully’s bed and around toward the armchair. He was frightened by how light her bodyweight was in his arms. He could feel her ribs digging into the biceps of his left arm.

“Doing all right?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” she answered, but her voice was tight, like she was holding her breath.

Mulder stopped. “What hurts?”

“I’m okay - just don’t stop. Let’s just get there, okay?” The undertone of urgency in her voice made his heart skip. He tried to move gently, smoothly, and quickly all at once to get seated in the chair, moving the I.V. pole around behind them, out of sight. Mulder sat down carefully, cradling Scully across his lap, and then tried to hold still for her while she adjusted her own position. He figured she was settled when he felt her slowly ease a long breath out, relaxing ever so slightly.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Mmm,” she breathed. “Good. Thanks.”

Scully lay her cheek against his collarbone and placed her left hand on his chest. Mulder slowly and carefully extracted his right arm from under her knees, letting her lower legs hang over the armrest. He covered her hand with his and squeezed.

“Can you see out the window?” he asked. They were on the third floor in a room facing out toward the parking lot - not a lot to see, really, but at least the sun was out.

“No,” she said. “Well, just the sky. But it’s nice.”

He bent his neck and kissed her forehead. “Hey, Scully?” he whispered.

“Mmm?”

His voice cracked from a murmur to a whisper. “Can I hold you like this forever?”

He heard her sniffle. “Please,” she said. He felt her start to cry again, and he wrapped his arms around her for a gentle hug.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna break you,” he said.

He felt her shake her head. “Ninety-six pounds.” She sighed.

“Jesus,” he said, relaxing the hug, wanting to see her face again.

She looked forlorn. “I don’t even remember what it’s like to feel hungry. I hate that. I used to love food.”

“No appetite?”

“It’s all the drugs. They mess with your system so bad, regular treatment regimens just automatically include liquid nutrition nowadays.”

“I can feel your ribs,” Mulder said.

Scully nodded. “I cried when I went under 100 pounds. Adults aren’t supposed to weigh this little. It’s like I’m already decomposing or something.”

Mulder stroked her arm with his free hand, trying to distract himself. This was too disturbing. He wanted to just focus on the feel of her, the smell, the sounds of her - but none of it was quite right. This was a distorted version of Scully, deflated and muted. And yet not quite defeated. Mulder chuckled softly as he realized that Scully’s stubbornness went right to her core.

“What’s funny?” she mumbled, sounding sleepy.

“Nothing,” he said. “You getting tired again?”

“Yeah,” she said, a little regretfully.

“Good. Pain had its turn. Time for sleep again.”

She wriggled a little closer into the crook of his shoulder. “You’ll hold me?”

“Forever,” he whispered. “I never want to let go.”

 

 

Mulder heard the door open about twenty minutes later. He’d been staring out the window, his cheek resting on Scully’s forehead, listening to the whimpers and sighs she made as she slept. Apparently the exhaustion only barely exceeded the pain. Mulder knew he’d never be able to erase those sounds from his memory.

He turned his head to see who’d appeared at the door. It was Mrs. Scully and Bill.

Mrs. Scully smiled at Mulder. Bill placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders and barely managed to contain his scowl.

“Hi, Fox,” Mrs. Scully said softly. Her eyes glistened as she smiled.

Mulder smiled back in greeting and nodded.

“Should Dana be out of bed?” Bill grumbled.

Mulder involuntarily squeezed Scully a little closer to himself. “She asked me to,” he said. He thought better of adding “hold her” and just let the situation speak for itself.

Mrs. Scully moved to the bed and picked up the extra blanket folded on the shelf above the head of the bed. She brought it toward the chair, unfolded it, and draped it over Mulder and Scully, being sure to cover Scully’s bare legs. She patted her daughter’s head, then placed her hand on Mulder’s shoulder.

“How’s she doing?” Mrs. Scully asked softly.

“She’s in a lot of pain. I hadn’t realized…” Mulder glanced down at Scully’s face and saw that she’d begun to grimace. He realized that the pain was coming back to the surface. She’d wake up soon. “She hadn’t told me how bad it had become.”

Mrs. Scully nodded. “Dana’s always been the strong and quiet type. Doesn’t like to let on that she’s suffering. Even now.”

Mulder nodded. “She’s incredible. I don’t think I could --”

He was interrupted as Scully gasped and then groaned. Mrs. Scully’s hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes welled with tears. Mulder’s heart raced, and he put his free hand to Scully’s temple.

Her eyes fluttered open. When she saw Mulder hovering over her, she looked confused for a moment, then blinked a few times and seemed to remember where she was, how she got there.

“Dana?” Mrs. Scully choked out the word in a tight voice.

Scully looked up to see that her mother was also hovering. “Hi, Mom,” she whimpered.

“Honey, are you all right?”

Scully let out a short, “Mmm,” and Mulder wasn’t sure if it was a yes or a no. More of a dismissal of the question, he decided.

“Do you need to move?” Mulder asked. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, stay,” she said, softly. Scully’s eyes were clamped shut, as if she were bearing out a cramp or a sharp pain.

Without thinking, Mulder bent and pressed his lips to Scully’s forehead, listening to her sharp pants as she adjusted to whatever this newest pain was.

Distantly, Mulder heard the door, footsteps, the door again. Bill leaving.

Whatever, Mulder thought. He’s the asshole.

He heard Scully release her breath slowly, and she relaxed slightly in his arms. “Okay,” she whispered.

Mulder raised his head to look at her face again, and he saw tears on both of Scully’s cheeks. With his thumb, he wiped one away.

Mrs. Scully turned and walked toward the window. By the tense movements of her shoulders Mulder could tell that she, too, was crying.

This is all my fault, Mulder thought. On that, Bill had been right - the pain and suffering this family had endured was directly attributable to this quest he was on. He allowed himself to sink into the familiar self-loathing for a few moments.

Scully stirred a little in his arms, drawing his attention once more outward. He met her eyes, which had dried a little, and she smiled from one corner of her mouth. “Bathroom,” she whispered.

Mulder nodded and gathered Scully in his arms to stand up.

“I should walk,” she said, halting him.

“You sure?”

She nodded. “It’s been a while since I walked. I’d like to walk.”

Mulder nodded back. He understood her desire to test herself, to prove her strength to herself. “Here,” he said, reaching behind the chair for the I.V. pole. “Don’t forget this.” He pulled it around to the front of the chair so Scully could grab it with her right hand.

“Thanks,” she said.

Mulder helped her swing her legs around so her toes met the floor, and then he gently supported her from behind as she rose, until they both were satisfied that she was stable on her feet.

The bathroom was back on the other side of the room, and Scully made slow, careful progress toward it. Mulder barely stifled the urge to follow, to be one step behind her in case she fell. He could sense that Mrs. Scully, over his shoulder, was struggling with that same urge herself.

Scully made it to the bathroom, shuffled in, and closed the door quietly behind her.

“Thank you, Fox,” Mrs. Scully said once the door had closed. “She doesn’t say so, but she really needs this support.”

Mulder couldn’t pull his eyes away from the bathroom door. He shrugged. “I’m not sure what I can do. I feel so helpless. But I don’t know - I feel like I need to do something.”

Mrs. Scully laid a hand on his shoulder. “What you’re doing is right. It’s what she needs.”

He turned to regard Scully’s mom. Her eyes, her face, her whole frame, wore a poorly masked weariness. “How are you doing?” Mulder asked, rising from the armchair. He gestured to indicate that Mrs. Scully should take the seat.

“No, thank you, Fox,” she said, shaking her head with a gentle smile. “I’m all right.”

Mulder smiled, recognizing that Scully’s stubborn insistence of her own strength at the most difficult of times was a direct inheritance from her mother. He remained standing, placing his fists on his lower back and circling his hips slowly, stretching out the tightness he felt.

Mrs. Scully cleared her throat softly, in a way that let Mulder know she was preparing to say something important. He stilled and glanced at her questioningly.

She met his gaze with piercing sincerity. “Fox, thank you - for loving Dana as you have. You’ve been patient and gentle with her, respectful. Loyal.” Mrs. Scully’s eyes moved to the closed bathroom door, and she smiled. “Most men -- most people -- don’t have the patience to wait out her instinct for privacy.

“I used to worry that it would make her life lonely, the way she guards herself so closely.” Mrs. Scully shrugged and smiled again. “Now I realize that what she does just ensures that the people who get close to her - the ones she lets in - are the kind of people who will be there for her like you are. And because of that, she’s never lonely.”

Mulder smiled. He’d never thought of it that way, but Mrs. Scully was right. He felt proud to be that kind of person.

He said, “She’s an easy person to love.”

Mrs. Scully nodded, paused, then looked concerned. “I’m going to check on her.”

Mulder realized that it had been a while since Scully had closed the bathroom door, and he felt a rush of concern pass through him, recalling how quickly her energy faded lately. She could have fallen, hit her head on something…

Mrs. Scully tapped lightly on the bathroom door. “Dana, honey. Everything okay?”

Mulder strained to listen for a response from across the room. Mrs. Scully glanced back in his direction, still wearing a look of concern. Mulder couldn’t tell if that was because Scully had responded in distress, or because she hadn’t responded at all.

He took a couple of nervous steps toward the bathroom. He didn’t want to violate Scully’s privacy if it was unnecessary - but if she was in trouble, or in pain, he wanted to be close by to help.

Mrs. Scully cracked the door open slightly and poked her head into the space. “Honey?” she called. Mulder averted his eyes and focused his attention on listening for a response from Scully.

Before he could hear one, Mrs. Scully pushed further into the room. He heard her say, “Dana, what’s wrong, what’s happened?” before the door softly closed behind her.

Mulder’s pulse raced with adrenaline, and he paused only briefly before moving to grasp the door handle. He pulled the door open and tried to keep his gaze pointed at the floor. “What’s wrong?” he called.

He heard Mrs. Scully say, “It’s okay, Fox,” at the same time that he heard a wail from Scully - a wounded, heart wrenching sound he’d never heard her make before.

His eyes snapped up, and he turned his head toward the sound, toward Scully huddled in the corner by the sink, curled up in a ball, weakly resisting her mother’s attempts to pull her into an embrace. Scully’s face was drawn into the most pained, tearful grimace he’d ever seen.

“Scully, what happened?” he said breathlessly. He crossed the room to crouch next to Mrs. Scully. He placed a hand on Scully’s knee.

She was clutching a hand to her collarbone, and she’d lain her cheek down over it. Mulder glanced down and saw that in her fist she clasped a tangle of bright red hair.

Mrs. Scully met his eyes sadly, and she stroked her daughter’s arm gently.

Mulder’s heart sank in his chest, and he tried without success to think of something to say. For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were Scully’s tearful, hitching whimpers.

Mrs. Scully sniffed, then murmured gently, “Dana, we should get you back to bed. This floor is cold.” She looked again at Mulder, a wordless request on her face.

Mulder nodded and moved to scoop Scully into his arms. He felt her try to resist, and he paused, his heart breaking again. Then, with a new wave of quiet tears, she relented and leaned slightly into his arms.

Mulder kissed her forehead and stood. He felt his throat close, and his own eyes swelled with tears as once more he noted inwardly how light and delicate she felt in his arms.

Mrs. Scully followed them back to the bed, guiding the I.V. pole into position alongside the headboard. Rather than set Scully down on the mattress so she could lie down, Mulder turned and sat down on the bed himself, lowering Scully to sit crosswise in his lap. He gently drew her closer to his chest, releasing her legs and wrapping that arm around her torso as well, enclosing Scully in a gentle but firm hug. He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

Mulder felt Scully’s body shake with more subdued sobs. He rocked her slowly in his arms, and Mrs. Scully patted her daughter’s head. Before long, Mulder felt her slack in his arms. Scully let out a sigh. When she spoke, her voice was tight, carefully controlled. “God, I’d really hoped I could keep my hair.”

Mulder lifted his chin and pulled back his head to meet Scully’s eyes. She smiled sadly, and he could see that, having cried over this latest insult, Scully had accepted it and, in her own way, begun to move on. He decided to risk a moment of levity. “I think I said the same thing to my bathroom mirror last week.”

Scully rolled her eyes at him, but the smile that bloomed on her face was genuine and bright. It made his soul soar.

He caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall and remembered the mysterious appointment he had to keep. Turning regretfully back to Scully, he said, “I have somewhere I need to be for a little while.” She nodded, and he scooted her gently off his lap and back into place on the bed.

“I’ll come back,” he said.

“I’ll be here,” Scully replied. He saw a glint in her eye that he read as a dark stab at humor. He couldn’t quite bring himself to smile about it, though. He nodded, instead, rising from the bed and squeezing Scully’s ankle gently through the hospital blanket.

“Bye, Mrs. Scully,” he said softly, touching her shoulder as he passed by, headed for the door.

“Goodbye, Fox,” she said. “Thank you, again.”


End file.
